he turned away, shut the door, and Allan came to see who it was his father

religious man, bolted it!

treated so rudely.

Was this his sister,- this pale, wasted creature? He put his arms tenderly around her, and unmindful of his father's anger, he knocked loudly at the door. It was in vain. My mother, my sister! stammered Lucy.

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They are not at home, but will

soon be here." "Father," shouted Allan, "let me

in; my sister is fainting,

let us in, in the name of God!" There came no answer.

"Let us go, Allan; but where shall the miserable go, when her father refuses her admittance?"

"Let us go to the parsonage," said Allan. And they went, and were admitted. The good man soothed the poor, stricken one, as he would a child. She was kindly cared for; and when her mother came, and clasped her child wildly in her arms, she was in a measure calm and happy.

She had come back to die. From the couch upon which she was laid, that day, at the parsonage, she never rose. Her mother never left her; utterly unmindful of what her husband might say, she

watched by the bedside of Lucy. He came not near

When she was dead and laid out for burial, Parson Robbins went to her father, and told him she was

dead, and asked him if he did

not wish to see her. "She asked for you

He replied that he did not. before she died, and wished to be remembered to you." The lip of the stern man quivered, a single tear crept from his eye and rolled slowly down his cheek; but he made no reply.

Lucy was buried; and there was not a dry eye at her funeral, as Parson Robbins lifted up his trembling voice in prayer. They came to look upon her, and thought how young she was to die, and how much of sorrow she must have seen, to have made her once beautiful face so thin, so care-worn.

She was buried! Her father sat at home; he followed her not to the grave, he looked not again upon her face. But did not that pale, wan face haunt him ever, as it had looked up to him there at his very threshold, and begged for admittance? Alas! who can tell? Happier was the mother, as, with streaming eyes and trembling hands, she straightened the small limbs for the grave, closed

the dim eyes, and smoothed the rich hair on her cold, marble brow.

Happier by far was Parson Robbins, who had opened his doors; the penitent, who, not deeming herself better than the vilest sinner, dared not say, "Stand by, for I am holier than thou."

This instance is but one of many instances, showing in what respect and reverence Parson Robbins was held by his people. If any needed advice, to whom should they go but to him? If any were in sorrow or trouble, he could comfort and console them. They were always sure of his sympathy and aid. They never came to him in vain; they never went out of his house with a heavier heart than when they entered.

Good old man! There are few like him in the world, now. We have preachers eloquent and powerful; we have ministers learned and profound; we have speakers to stir our hearts and souls; we have but few like Parson Robbins. I fear they are disappearing with the old-fashioned meeting-houses. Every village now has half a dozen small places of worship, with half a dozen shall I say it? preachers to correspond.

We grow so enlightened we cannot all worship at one church. This man is too liberal, that too strict; this too dull, that too theatrical; one church is too far, another has a poor choir; one minister is too extravagant, another too parsimonious; and so, the people growing so critical, the preachers grow to thinking more of their hearers than the truth they are set up to preach. And, for these and forty other reasons we might mention, the class of preachers like good old Parson Robbins are disappearing from the earth.

Perhaps, however, owing to the progress of the age, and the superior enlightenment of the age, we do not need this class of preachers now. The wants of a people change. However, we may not stop to discuss the subject, being averse to argument of any kind; we will leave the question for abler minds, and, merely invoking a blessing upon all who may be like Parson Robbins, leave him by saying that he lived to a good old age, respected and beloved by all, and that his memory is held sacred in the village of Heven at the present time.

REVELATIONS OF THE TELESCOPE; FACTS AND

INFERENCES.

BY T. B. THAYER.

WHAT a variety of glories the heavenly bodies unfold to us under the action of the telescope! Take, as an example, our own little solar system. What variety in size, counting from the asteroids up to Jupiter; in distance, from Mercury to Neptune; in attendants, from the inferior planets without any, to Saturn with its seven moons and two magnificent rings; in time as respects their revolutions round the sun, from Mercury, which is less than three months, to Uranus, which is more than eighty-four years; and in speed, from the moon, which moves through its orbit at the rate of two thousand miles an hour, to Mercury, which plunges on its course at the terrific speed of more than one hundred and ten thousand miles an hour!

Let us consider some of these facts, both for the instruction afforded, and for the glimpse they give of the wonders which will invite us, when we pass away from this planet, to new knowledge, to ever